The Last Time
by N3ddyT3ddy
Summary: Set post 2x06 - Felicity and Oliver after the 'conversation' - Can Oliver fix what has been broken? Reviews/comments welcomed and appreciated :)
1. The Last Time

**The Last Time **

Felicity sat in her apartment, bleary eyed, with a glass of wine in hand as she watched her automated web search filter through news coverage; picking out potential mission material. As she watched the familiar _flash _of the progress bar, repeatedly dancing across her computer screen, she felt another tear slide down her cheek as she recalled that afternoon at Queen Consolidated.

_'Because of the life I lead, I just think it's better to not, be with someone I could really care about.' _

_'I think you deserve better than her.'_

Another flash, another tear, another sip of wine from a shaking hand. God she felt wounded, like that antelope she had watched on television the other night, lying in the grass waiting to die, all because it had gotten too close to a lion and couldn't get away. She knew what that felt like. Ever since she had found Oliver Queen in the back of her car bleeding over her seats, she had been moving closer and closer to the lion and against her better judgement, convinced herself that she could handle it, that she would be able to get away unscathed.

Oh how the universe loves to prove a girl wrong she thought, as she sat, knees to her chest leaning against the foot of her sofa, just as broken as that antelope on T.V. Part of her wished she had never said anything, never asked why, never given Oliver the opportunity to break her heart. The other part wished she had gotten angry – given him a what for – as her grandmother used to say, but she hadn't. So she sat, still helping him, looking for potential targets to make the city safer.

She heard the faint sound of knocking on her front door. She rose, fetching her purse, thinking it was the Chinese food she ordered over an hour ago. She opened the door about to ask how much for the food, when the words died in her throat. Standing on the other side of her front door was Oliver Queen. She could feel his eyes wander over her taking her in, the oversized t-shirt and leggings, her blonde hair falling in messy curls around her shoulders, her tear streaked face. His eyes flicked to the glass of wine on her kitchen table then back to her as he stepped over the threshold and into her apartment.

She stepped back, as he turned and closed the door behind him, not wanting to have him in her personal space.

'Felicity, I…' he started.

She inwardly grimaced; God she didn't have the energy for this, all she wanted to do right now is crawl into bed and never come out. Not listen to him try to fix whatever he believed he had broken.

She watched as he began to shift his weight from one foot to the other, as he tried again to speak.

'Felicity, I….. about what I said this afternoon' As she heard him try to bring up the conversation they had that afternoon, she felt something inside her snap, the anger which hadn't presented itself at the time of that conversation now rose up within her as she took a step towards him.

'Stop, just don't Oliver, just don't.'

'But, I…' She raised her hand to stop whatever he was about to say.

'I get it ok? I know you think you can't care about anyone, because of how you spend your nights, but that's not it, you were with McKenna and laurel and that crazy chick with the cross bow, who had a vendetta just like yours, so I know that saying you can't be with someone you care about is a lie Oliver.'

She didn't know whether it was her anger at him or the considerable amount of wine she had consumed that was letting her say this, but she didn't question it, taking another step forward until they were toe to toe.

'You forget that I know you Oliver Queen, the real you, I know how you spend your nights trying to make the city safer, I know you think you need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and you think that every bad thing that happens is your fault.'

'I've seen you battered and bloodied, happy and sad, scarred and broken. I see you..'

'I know I just' He stuttered.

'I'm not finished, so after all this time, I know the real reason. You're scared, you think that if you let anyone in, really in, not what you Digg and I have, that when they find out what happened to you on that island or what you did whilst there, that they will see you how you see yourself – as a monster, who is more broken on the inside then what his scarred body shows on the outside, someone who you, you Oliver believe doesn't deserve love.'

She is breathing hard after she finishes talking, waiting for his answer, waiting for him to leave her apartment, to fire her, kick her off team arrow, but he doesn't he just stands there, eyes dark and speechless.

He moves suddenly, stalking forward until she is wedged between him and the kitchen counter, his hands find purchase on her hips, like a drowning man clinging to life, capturing her lips with his own in a searing kiss. A kiss that burns as his stubble grazes her chin, consumes as she loses all conscious thought. Calloused hands gather at the small of her back pulling her up against him, ensnaring her within his embrace. He deepens the kiss tracing the outline of her bottom lip with his tongue.

Small hands run through his hair and grab at his neck urging him on. She wonders if this is a good idea if she should be allowing this, but her thought pattern scatters again as he begins kissing down her neck, lips brushing over her collar bone. She lets her head fall back to allow him greater access as he skims his nose along her skin taking in her scent and begins running his hand up and down her spine. It isn't until he murmurs incoherently against her skin, hears his voice that she freezes, is shot back into the reality of the moment. He feels her tense and nips at her neck. She is tempted- oh so tempted to melt into this contact, to forget what happened in Russia, with Laurel, but she couldn't. Wiggling herself out of his embrace she takes a step back. He reaches for her, but she sidesteps not allowing the contact.

'We can't do this Oliver, I can't do this. I'm not this person; I'm not the consolation prize, who revels in being chosen after the first choice doesn't work out. I'm not okay with being second on your list after laurel and I'm most definitely not okay with being second to Isabel Rochev.'

'Felicity it didn't mean anything.. I' He takes a step forward pleading her to see, to understand.

'I know Oliver, but that doesn't change that you still chose her and I respect myself to much to overlook that detail. I'm different to them, I know you better, so I won't accept half of you, I won't accept secrets and lies. So until I am at the top of your list, the only one you want to be with, then this is the last time something like this happens. ' As she finishes her lip quivers as she silently implores herself not to cry.

'What will….?' Oliver starts to ask quietly.

'We will be what we always have been Oliver, I will be the IT consultant of team arrow, who rambles too much and your executive assistant at QC, everything will be just the way it was, before Russia, before you went back to the island, before the quake, I'll see you tomorrow Oliver.'

She watched as he ran a hand over his face before slowly walking towards the front door, he stops about to say something, but she turned and walked back to the kitchen, hearing the door close and silence filling the room.

Felicity sat in her apartment, bleary eyed, with a glass of wine in hand, sliding down into her previous position at the foot of her sofa, watching the familiar _flash_ of the progress bar dancing across her computer screen, she felt another tear slide down her cheek as she feels the wound she spent most of the night trying to close, split open wider than before as her heart breaks.


	2. What I've Done

I decided to write a short Oliver scene, as he didn't really get a 'voice' in my previous chapter. This is just a filler whilst I am writing the next Felicity chapter. ;) Enjoy, I hope I got his 'voice' right. Feedback always welcomed and appreciated ;)

_Strike_, one, two, three, four, _breathe_.

_Strike_, one, two, three, four, _breathe_.

Oliver stood in the foundry, as he had been for the past three hours since he had left or more appropriately had been dismissed and kicked out of Felicity's apartment. Dressed in a pair of worn cargo pants, riding low on his hips, Oliver faced the training dummy and lashed out.

_Strike_, one, two, three, four, _breathe._

Sweat beaded and glistened over his marred skin, accentuating the muscle beneath, that rippled and tensed with each strike, trying desperately to find a state of relative calm that since the conversation with Felicity had eluded him.

He had struggled for the first hour, to find a suitable distraction, anything to lessen the burden he felt weighing him down. As a vice grip had settled upon on his heart, he felt his chest tighten as anger rose up, felt himself begin to fray around the edges; exposed and volatile like a live wire. Not a safe response. Not for someone like him.

Initially he had paced around the foundry, rolling his shoulders and clenching his fists, a caged animal, itching to be free. Frustrated, he had picked up his bow and begun pinning tennis balls to the far wall, but the echoing thump of them hitting the floor, reverberating throughout the foundry just set him further on edge. The salmon ladder had a similar effect, as memories of catching her ogling him hounded his mind. As a result he had concluded that he needed a more _intense_ and _direct_ workout to distract him from recent events.

So Oliver stood in the foundry, unleashing another set of a four strike sequence he usually kept reserved solely for eradicating the remnants of one of his nightmares.

The four strike sequence, which had been taught to him by Shado, was designed to instil discipline, resilience and control. To allow him control over his own body and mind even in the presence of extreme fatigue and pain. As he launched himself into another set he recalled the first time he had attempted the technique:

_'Shado, I can't hit that, it's going to split my hand open!'_

_'That's the point kid.. .' Slade chuckled, as he sat leaning against the plane as Shado wrapped a thin blanket around the trunk of a young tree. _

_'This technique teaches inner control, the ability to complete a task so that all external distractions disappear. Do not strike the tree head on or you will break your wrist.' She indicates by skimming the trunk with a knife hand strike. _

_'You can do this.' She sated simply, placing a hand on his chest and smiling up at him. _

Pushing the memory away, Oliver steps back from the training dummy looks down at his calloused hands relishing in the familiar burning sensation caused by each strike. Not dissimilar to the sensation that is still lingering on his skin as a result of Felicity dragging her nails down his back, as she let her head fall back to grant him access to her throat. The simple touch had set his nerve endings on fire and he wanted nothing more than to….

'Stop it!' He growls at himself as he launches himself into another set.

_ Strike, _one, two, three, four,_ breathe. _

_Strike, _one, two, three, four,_ Crack! _

Oliver cursed as he inspected the now obliterated training dummy, they really did need to order those in bulk he murmurs, picking up the pieces and tossing them aside. God he needed to stop thinking about her, about how much he wants her, how badly he had screwed up this time. He had crossed a line, kissing her like that, thinking it would make it better; fix what he had so magnificently broken by sleeping with Isabel Rochev.

He began pacing again, as he felt his anger at himself rise; red embers igniting once again within.

He had gone to her apartment, with the intention of explaining it all, but when the time came, he couldn't find the words, the words that would fix what he with his actions had ruined. Instead he had stood there falling over his own words, cursing himself for being this Oliver, the broken, battered and damaged Oliver that came back from that island. The Oliver that can no longer hide behind bravado and smooth talk, not with her. Not with the one who saw so completely through the charade he puts forth to the world. The one who strips him bare and leaves him exposed, vulnerable; who has seen him in some of his darkest moments and yet still remains. Yet he stood there, let her think the worst and proceed to read him like an open book.

She was right; he was treating her like a consolation prize, not like the treasure she was, the light in his life constantly chasing away the darkness, the darkness within himself. Keeping the demons that threaten to pull him under at bay. Allowing him to reclaim that which he thought was destroyed along with the Queens Gambit that night, shards of happiness.

A part of him was restored because of her, because of her goodness, her loyalty, her light. Even though he would never be completely whole again, would never bask in the same light as she did, as a result of the atrocities that occurred on that hellish island. She selflessly gives him these moments of happiness and hope – however fleeting, hope that maybe he isn't the scarred and damaged monster he sees in the mirror. That when she smiles; he can find it within himself to smile too.

He hates himself for being the reason she no longer smiles, that her light is dimming, because of his actions in Russia, maybe even before - he doesn't know.

As he skims his hand over her desk, he knows, he has to fix this, to make it right, to show her exactly how much she means to him, that he can't live without her, to prove to her she is not the consolation prize.


End file.
